Brad Crawford always played things very close to his chest when planning something. There were two reasons for this; the first was that he was a good leader and the second was because of his talent.

As a Precognitive, Crawford understood the power of self-consciousness in influencing the future; tell someone what would happen and that very knowledge would instantly alter the outcome. He used the effect to his advantage, of course, to prevent events he considered undesirable from occurring, but when Crawford 'saw' something that he wanted to have happen, he told absolutely no one. As a good leader Crawford knew his team would do whatever he asked of them, regardless of how ridiculous or inconsequential it seemed, because they knew that he knew things that they didn't, and they trusted him to know what he was doing. It didn't stop them from complaining, every now and then, or trying to coax, threaten or bribe the details from him, but for the most part they left well enough alone, and the attempts were never all that serious.

This was all well and good, of course, but Crawford was also an evil genius, damn it, and listening to Fujimiya deliver yet another of his speeches about 'dark beasts' and 'deserving death' and 'shin-e!' chafed. It was unfair, was what it was. He couldn't posture and wax poetic over the exquisite brilliance of his dastardly plans.

"Are you pouting?" Schuldig leaned over to put his face directly in Crawford's, and grinned gleefully. "You are!"

Crawford frowned. "I am not. I have never pouted in my entire life."

Schuldig snorted indelicately. "Well you are now." he said.

Crawford ignored him, turning back to watch from their nicely hidden vantage point, as Weiss attempted to decimate some idiot scientist. If Weiss hadn't targeted him, Schwarz would have, so Crawford needed to make sure they didn't foul it up and let the scientist escape or, heaven forbid, live. Farfarello was sulking because of it though, mumbling about doing various, admittedly rather creative, things to the little red kitten in retribution for his 'stolen' kill. Crawford would deal with that later. Maybe he'd find Farfarello a priest to dismember.

A poke to his arm got Crawford's attention again. "Why are you pouting? Let me in?" Schuldig asked, batting his lashes. "I'll make your life a misery for the next several hours if you don't."

He would too. The last time he denied Schuldig something had resulted in three hours of non-stop, unadulterated whining, both verbal and mental, and by the end of it, Schuldig had gotten what he wanted anyway. "Stupid Christmas present." Crawford muttered irritably, eyeing Schuldig as he smirked.

"It was your own fault, you should have told me what you'd gotten me straight away, you know. Now are you going to let me in or not?"

Crawford felt the odd mental press that was Schuldig's way of asking permission and lowered his shields a little, enough so that the telepath could skim the surface of his mind. He let his earlier thoughts float to the surface and could feel Schuldig struggle with the urge not to howl with laughter as he found them and withdrew. In the real world, Schuldig was turning red with the effort of it.

Nagi looked over at them curiously. "What are you-?"

"Don't even think about it." Crawford interrupted Nagi to warn Schuldig who, finally managing to choke back his laughter, slung an arm around Crawford's waist and snuggled close.

Crawford glinted in an evil and threatening way at Schuldig. He hated feeling embarrassed even though it was something he was starting to get used to. You needed thick skin to live with Schuldig. The telepath ignored him, and his evilly glinting glasses, in favor of reaching up to lick below Crawford's ear.

"Tell you what, oh great and evil mastermind" he whispered. "When we get home I'll let you tie me up and monologue at me for as long as you like. I'll even pretend to be awed by your astounding and devious brilliance. But only if you promise to fuck me afterwards."

Crawford considered this. He couldn't reveal any of his actual plans, of course, but perhaps... oh yes, that would work. He could certainly come up with a suitably evil monologue regarding his plans for Schuldig's ass, along with various other parts of his anatomy. Crawford allowed a small and very wicked smile to curl up the corners of his mouth. Being an evil genius definitely had its benefits.